A Mess

Yesterday, the second grade girl that I tutor who is a total MESS, told me I look like I "forgot to brush my hair."

Maybe I should rethink my current style.

Confirmation

This past weekend, we took seven of our youth up to Warren W. Willis camp and retreat center in Leesburg, FL, which is just north of Orlando. We traveled up there for Confirmation Camp. Audrey Warren, my new best friend, and pastor at Branches United Methodist Mission, (the church that houses and runs the afterschool program I am working for) was the key note speaker for the weekend. It was a retreat designed for students, mostly middle school students, who are going through confirmation with their church. There were about 12 other churches there, mostly from Ft. Lauderdale and further north. There were no other churches there from Miami, and certainly no others from further south. We were the only church down south who were crazy enough to make the five hour drive up north. Since we were so far “north,” the weather changed. Our kids were completely unprepared for the cold that awaited us in Leesburg and most of them only showed up with flip flops. Although, to be fair, I think more than anything that most of our kids actually only own flip flops.

I learned a lot about our youth this past weekend. Five hours in a car will do that to any group of people. However, I learned more about their lives and their Florida City culture. I learned mostly by listening. Not by listening to the ridiculous stories they told, or to their complaints, or to their conversations with one another. I learned so much more about their lives by listening to their questions.

Question #1: “Miss, where's all the black people at?”

I mentioned that most of the churches were from north of Miami. Besides being churches that are north of Miami, most of the churches were from smaller rural towns. Therefore, there was an obvious lack of diversity that I don't think I would have ever noticed before. We stuck out like a sore thumb, that's for sure! Seven loud, crazy, Haitian and Latino children with their three white adult sponsors. Honestly though, before moving to South Florida and becoming the minority, I had never noticed that it is weird to go to a church conference and be in a room full of hundreds of white people.

Question #2: “Miss, can't we lock our room? What are we going to do with our stuff? You know how people steal...”

There's something I had never thought about. Or never HAD to think about. Stealing? At a church conference? Who would do such a thing? But honestly, that's all these kids know. I have been told quite a few times not to leave my computer out during the day in the space where I work. I have been told that if I am not in the room with my computer that I should have it locked in the closet. Which has now just become habit for me, but was very hard to get used. (Thank goodness for helpful coworkers.) Over Christmas break our children and youth raised enough money at Branches to buy a goat from Habitat for Humanity. We had a giant bucket sitting on the table with these children's hard earned money in it. One day it was there, and a few hours later, it was gone. Our children and youth and staff had been in and out of that building all day long. And yet, somehow, it managed to disappear, right under our noses. My boss could do nothing but laugh and make light of the situation. This is just to be added to the long list of things that have been stolen from Branches. I think having been raised in a community where people don't even lock their front doors, hearing and witnessing and coming to terms with the fact that this is reality and where I came from is an anomaly, is something that takes getting used to.

Question #3: “Wait, we eat like this for THREE meals a day?!”

These kids don't get the kind of nutrition they need. That was something that was taught to me early on in my stay here. I tried one of the first months that I was here to teach a nutrition course, only to have it fall apart at the seams when I came to the understanding that these kids don't have access to the right kinds of foods, so telling them that they should be eating vegetables and whole grains is kind of just mean. Unfortunately, in our culture, it is more affordable to buy your child a hamburger than it is to purchase them a fruit or vegetable. Why is this? Why do my kids eat things like hot cheetos for dinner? I have never seen kids eat so much in my life. Even the middle school girls. I looked around at the tables surrounding us at meal times, noticing the middle school girls from the other groups dump full plates of food into the trash because they were watching their weight and didn't “need” the complex carbohydrates. Meanwhile, our girls are going back for seconds and thirds and hiding food in their pockets. I guess sometimes we don't realize how good we have it.

The last thing that happened this weekend was the most interesting of all. We got there kind of late, considering we drove the furthest, so we had to wait to move our stuff into our cabins after everyone else. It turns out there were not enough beds all in the same area. Our kids were nervous about sleeping in a room without adults that they knew, so Audrey and I were prepared to pull mattresses on the floor and let them have the beds. Instead, our kids decided to “double bunk.” Two girls slept in one single, twin bunk bed. Granted, we have skinny middle school girls. But still. When I had friends over in middle school there's no way we would have slept in one twin bed together. That's the purpose of bunk beds. However, it became very apparent the next night, when we were able to sort through the bed dilemma, that most of these girls had never had a twin bed all to themselves. They have been double bunking their entire lives. That is all they knew. And for all I know, they may have even had to sleep with more than two people in a single bed.

It truly is amazing the things I have taken for granted my entire life. I am thankful for an exhausting weekend. I am thankful for the fun, for the laughter, and most of all I am thankful for the learning.

Mystery Machine

Thanks Mom, for always making my dreams come true...

(The driver's side door also looks like this, I just ran out of camera battery and can't show you. You'll have to use your imagination.)

MERGE.

Ok, I do realize what a stretch this is going to be. However, you should know it's been a long day. So, I pose a question to everyone from Texas. What do you do when you see a large, neon, orange arrow ahead of you in your lane of traffic? You know what, I can actually answer this question for you:

Texans

A Texan driver will see the large, bright, blinking arrow, acknowledge the fact that it means that the lane you are currently driving in will soon diminish, slow down, turn on their blinker, safely check their blind spot, merge into the lane next to them approximately 200 feet before the lane actually disappears, wave to the kind person who let them into the other lane, and continue on with their day.

South Floridians

A South Floridian driver will see the large, bright, blinking arrow, acknowledge the fact that it means that the lane you are currently driving in will soon diminish, speed up, drive as fast as they can until all of the cars have bottle-necked up at the end of the lane, slam on their brakes, make the "angry-Floridian-driver arm gesture," inch their way closer to the end of the lane, tailgate the person in front of them because, Heaven forbid, someone in the lane next to them actually get two inches ahead of them, wait until the last possible second, cut off the person next to them, *more angry arm gestures,* ending with traffic being back up for miles, simply because South Floridians don't know how to merge.

Can you tell I'm a little bitter this evening? I have mentioned the ridiculousness that is South Florida drivers before. "We ride low and we drive slow..." But it more than the fact that these people have all learned to drive in other countries and then all moved to the same area of the state to fight for who can drive the worst out of the South American countries.

I was sitting in traffic this evening. Unnecessary traffic, I might add. The road I have to take to and from work each day is under constant construction. If, like tonight, I leave work a little bit late, the "nightly closures" have already begun, thus closing down the major highway to one lane so that they can refinish the others. I'm sure that, YEARS after I am gone from South Florida that this will actually be a very decent road, however, right now, it's a pain in my neck. I sat in traffic tonight for about twenty minutes simply because people in South Florida don't know how to merge from two lanes into one. IT'S NOT HARD!

About half way through my raging, I realized I was acting very childish. Tonight in my Bible Study we talked about the prodigal son. The study actually had to do with relationships, but I am reaching here... I kind of had an epiphany right there on the turnpike tonight. I was so pissed off for so long watching these people whiz past me on the road. I was thinking, "I'm doing the right thing. I saw the flashing arrow and I moved over well in advance. YOU PEOPLE are doing the wrong thing. Waiting until the last possible second so that you can get ahead of everyone else. Thus actually holding everyone up so that there are near accidents and angry road raging individuals roaming the streets." I was ready to burst. Giving everyone that I looked down upon (literally looked down upon because I drive a fifteen passenger van with a lift...) a dirty look and a dirty thought to go along with it.

Then I had my thought. My first thought came about because my boss tonight in the Bible Study said something profound. It was actually directed at the youth, but she said, "Why can't we all just get along? Why can't we just be nice to one another?" And then I also recalled my pastor last Sunday talking about this "constant need to love others - even those on I-95." Those two thoughts converged in my head and exploded with one final thought about the prodigal son. I was having a very self-righteous "brother of the prodigal son" moment, thinking I was better than these people because I have been doing the right thing all along. Yes, these people cut me off. Yes these people are stupid and don't know how to drive. (Just kidding...I'm still bitter...) Yes, these people can be rude. A lot of people in this world can be rude. However, God loves them as much, if not more than me. Honestly, that thought changed my attitude. I stopped tailgating the person in front of me to let others in when they finally decided to merge. And, the greatest thing actually happened. The man who I let in, who I had been giving mean looks to and secretly pinching his head off for the last twenty minutes, actually gave me a friendly wave in the rear view mirror. My first friendly wave from a South Florida driver. It only took six months and a change of heart to get there.

Home.

Last weekend I watched my roommate and various other friends participate in a half marathon. The whole time I was watching these people run by (getting rather nauseous trying to find Julie...) I was getting more and more pumped up about running. That high has lasted through this week and has reenergized me on my morning runs. Enabling me to run farther and feel better about my exercise routine. When I run I preform what is known as "the cardinal sin" of runners. I wear head phones. And listen to music. If you are a true race runner, you know this is usually not even allowed at a race because you cannot fully understand what all is going on around you. But, I have to have music to run. Only one of the reasons why I will probably never achieve my goal of marathon running. This morning I turned up the music. Loud enough so that I couldn't hear my thoughts or the cat calls of my latino neighbors but soft enough so I could still hear the passing traffic. (Safety first, that's what I've always said...)

But, this morning on my run, I heard a song I had never heard before. It's by someone who I was just recently introduced to, Marc Scibilia. If you have the chance I fully recommend his album "From Brooklyn to Maine." I have recently been expanding my music collection and opening my mind to new artists and songs. So, when this song first came on my mp3 player, I wasn't sure what it was, however the song, "This World Ain't My Home" totally spoke to me. My whole life I have felt restless. Not able to stay in one location for more than a few years and more recently, not feeling like I have a permanent home. Not necessarily longing for these things of permanency, but often times feeling anxious and in flux. Anxious about where I will be working or living next year. Anxious about what I want to do with my life. Anxious about the tensions in my life of wanting to feel "in the moment" and yet needing to look forward. I think this song says it all. For me, for my anxieties, for my current life of flux. And hopefully, for some of you as well:

"This World Ain't My Home"

by Marc Scibilia

"I've been to Paris, I've been to Rome.

I've seen a little bit of the world that's known,

but it seems no matter where I go,

I know this world, it ain't my home.

I've got keys to a house that's on loan,

I've got keys to a car with rust and chrome.

I've keys to things I'll never own,

'cause I know this world, it ain't my home.

You take me so very close,

but I can't cut down this thought that grows,

that no matter where I rest or roam,

I know this world, it ain't my home.

Sometimes it seems a far off dream,

just in sight but out of reach,

I don't know where to go but I just keep going,

'cause I know this world, it ain't my home.

And I used to treasure jewels like years,

'till these ancient words met my ears.

Now a ruby's just another stone,

'cause I know this world, it ain't my home.

And you take me so very close,

but I can't cut down this thought that grows,

that no matter where I rest or roam,

I know this world, it ain't my home.

Maybe I could try to fall in love again,

find a little house with a picket fence,

but you know, you know that I, I am a travelin' man,

to a distant country and a far off land.

And when my time is used and done,

when I see that final settin' sun,

I'll leave everything I've ever known,

And that house above, it will be my home."